


let me romanticise

by paperclipbitch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fic Exchange, Fluff and Smut, Post-Thor (2011), Rain, Sharing Clothes, Shower Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’d be more excited about the strip show if you looked less like a drowned rat,” Darcy says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me romanticise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haywire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/gifts).



> [Title from _London Skies_ by Jamie Cullum] So, this is set between the _Thor_ movies, in that Jane and Darcy are living in their flat in London, only there's more making out and less, like, Thor. I genuinely love Jane/Darcy, it's one of my OTPs from the films, and I've never really written them before, so I'm delighted I got the opportunity to do this! Also, I've been rained on far too much this week, so I figured I'd slip that in.

It rains a lot in London.

The first few times, Jane thought that maybe it all had something to do with Thor, and spent time watching the skies, eyes blinded by lightning flashes, but nothing ever happened, and in the end she figured there was nothing supernatural about it; it was just that cliché, rainy England, all the British do is talk about the weather, all that cultural cachet. She doesn’t even mind all that much now: it makes a change from Nevada, anyway, from desert and heat and dust. 

Still, even after a few months of this, Jane still hasn’t gotten the hang of remembering to take an umbrella with her.

Darcy always tells Jane that she’s the definition of an absent-minded scientist, usually when she’s pointedly putting fresh mugs of hot coffee next to Jane’s elbow and it turns out it’s several hours later than Jane thought it was; sometimes it’s even several days later than Jane thought it was. This is nothing new; Jane’s mind is often so caught up in what’s happening thousands of miles above her head she sometimes forgets what’s on the ground in front of her. Sometimes this is just forgetting to eat or to sleep or to change her clothes socially acceptably often; sometimes it’s looking up from a formulae and realising that Darcy followed her to a whole new continent and it wasn’t ‘cause she any particular interest in astrophysics. 

Jane lets herself into their apartment - she should probably call it a flat, but she can’t get the hang of it – dripping wet. She’s pretty sure it wasn’t actually supposed to rain today, she actually watched the forecast and everything, but one of the night porters at the university just laughed at her as she remarked on this, wrapping her cardigan around herself while looking grimly at the downpour; apparently English weather tends to bear no resemblance to what the weather forecast actually says after all. Again, Jane was pretty sure this was one of those myths people who watched too much BBC America spouted, but her shoes are squelching miserably and her hair is clinging to her face and maybe tomorrow she’ll try and remember to take that umbrella Darcy got her, the shocking pink one that Darcy said would be eye-catching, but she was smirking as she said it.

“The prodigal returns,” Darcy calls from the couch, without moving, as Jane tries to divest herself of her sodden clothing before she gets the carpet wet. “Wait. I’m the prodigal one, aren’t I.”

“I thought you told me your new hobby of eating British cereals out of the box and watching British property shows all day was culturally important,” Jane says, wincing as she peels her jeans down her legs. 

“It is,” Darcy agrees. “I’d be more excited about the strip show if you looked less like a drowned rat,” she adds.

The heating’s been on for a while, but Jane still shivers; she’s literally soaked to the skin, and the more clothing she removes, the more her hair can drip unpleasantly down her bare back.

“I’ll try and keep that in mind,” she says, but her teeth are starting to chatter just a little as she shivers.

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be terrible at nursing you through pneumonia,” Darcy remarks, unfolding herself from the couch in a long languorous stretch. She’s dressed for lying around the apartment, soft leggings and a sweater Jane thinks might’ve belonged to her a long time ago; long enough ago that the lines of ownership are blurred. It drops off one of Darcy’s shoulders, cosy and a little oversized – almost definitely originally Jane’s, then – revealing a strip of pale skin that makes something in Jane lurch happily even as she’s shivering by the front door. 

Yes, she and Darcy dropped everything to fly to London and help out Selvig with something he thought he might’ve discovered, but Jane’s been learning a lot of things while sharing a home here with Darcy, none of which were scientific. Like how it’s nice to have a home to come back to, and someone in that home, draped in your clothes and, even if they’re caught up in an iphone game and just want to eat microwave popcorn for dinner, well, they’re pretty much _yours_. Jane hasn’t had that before, and she’s startled herself with how much she likes it.

“I’m not going to get pneumonia,” Jane responds, while Darcy pads over to her.

“You don’t get to self-diagnose,” Darcy says firmly, “you’re terrible at that, all ‘I’m fine, I’m fine’ and the next thing I know you’re unconscious under your desk.”

“One time,” Jane protests, “and I really thought it was Tuesday!”

“It was Friday,” Darcy responds, “so you’re lucky I’m the one with the plan to warm you up.”

“Does it involve hot water bottles?” Jane asks, because she could probably do with one. Or three.

“No,” Darcy replies, “because we’re not _ninety_.” She leans in, smirking, and kisses Jane; a quick, chaste press of mouths, and then she bites Jane’s lower lip as she pulls away.

“…oh,” Jane says.

“Yeah,” Darcy agrees, “c’mon.”

She grins, quick and wicked and delightful, and now Jane revels in it every time she _does_ she has no idea how she ever missed the way that Darcy’s mouth ticks that way, and the immediate effect it has on Jane.

Darcy leans into the shower stall – surprisingly generous, given how compact the rest of the apartment is – and turns the water on, keeping a hand under the spray while she flaps a hand at Jane. “Strip, we’re not showering in our underwear.”

“We?” Jane echoes, but she’s grinning back. 

“I know a hot shower is supposed to help warm you up,” Darcy adds, straight-faced, “but I should probably get in there with you, you know, make sure you’re doing it properly.”

Jane could point out that she’s one of the world’s most respected astrophysicists, but the last time she did that Darcy reminded her that that didn’t mean she was any good at normal human stuff, so she doesn’t bother this time, just shucks her wet underwear and dumps it into the laundry basket. Darcy adjusts the taps of the shower a little, then gets out the way.

“In you go,” she says, adding a friendly smack to Jane’s ass as she does.

Jane makes a face at her but a moment later the hot water hits her gooseflesh and it’s amazing, hot and sharp and bone-deep, and she lets out a groan of relief.

She’s dimly aware of Darcy wriggling out of her own clothing but she doesn’t register her properly until Darcy steps into the stall too, sliding the door shut behind her and trapping them both in the warmth of the water and steam.

“Hi,” Darcy says softly, reaching to tuck a lock of Jane’s wet hair behind her ear. She lets her hand linger for a long moment, skimming gentle wet fingers down Jane’s jaw and shoulder, before she leans in to kiss her again, sweeter and deeper than before, angled carefully away from the spray so they don’t both half-drown in the effort. 

It doesn’t always take place naked in the shower, but this happens most days when Jane gets home, Darcy gently taking all of Jane’s tangled threads and carefully smoothing them out, drawing her back to reality, not her equations and her calculations and her far-away stars. Settling Jane back into herself again.

“Hi,” Jane replies, equally quietly, when Darcy pulls away. They’re both soaking wet now, but it’s warm and mutual and has nothing to do with the rain probably still hitting the windows outside. Jane can’t hear that now, though; can’t hear anything except the shower and Darcy, cocooned in their own warmth.

“Better?” Darcy asks, hooking her hands around Jane’s waist to pull her close. Jane’s still a little shivery cold but Darcy is warm and smooth, and when Jane kisses her again in response, Darcy makes a pleased noise into her mouth. 

The first couple of times they tried to have sex in the shower, they were _terrible_ at it; the tiles are slippery underfoot and neither of them knew how to navigate the spray so water kept going up their noses, and once Darcy bruised her elbow on the piping when she came and spent the rest of the week complaining about it increasingly loudly and in public. They’re getting better at it, now they’ve been practicing – hell, how they’ve been practicing – and now they don’t wobble and skid when Jane presses Darcy up against the wall of the shower. The cool tiles make Darcy shudder, digging fingers into Jane’s back, and Jane tilts her head out of the way of the spray so she can kiss her way down Darcy’s neck, cupping her breasts in her hands. 

Darcy is all curves, something Jane hasn’t been able to get enough of since she first peeled off Darcy’s favourite battered H&M tunic to find her boobs were about twice the size Jane had assumed they were – “I know, man,” had been Darcy’s response to Jane’s gasp; arching a smug eyebrow – and she shifts so she can take one of Darcy’s nipples in her mouth. Darcy’s head makes a thudding sound when she tips it back, but before Jane can move to check she’s okay, one of Darcy’s hands knots in her hair to keep her in place. Darcy’s nipple is hardening quickly in Jane’s mouth; she adds a scrape of teeth and Darcy mutters something tightly, hand coming up to cup her other breast, thumbing the nipple desperately.

There’s not exactly much time for foreplay, because the shower is roomy and the water pressure isn’t too bad but the hot water isn’t unlimited; Darcy drags Jane back into a kiss with a muttered “get up here”, while her hands roam down Jane’s back, slick with the water, touch familiar and still enough to make Jane shiver and push back into her. She’s already forgotten what it was like to be hurrying back from the college in the downpour outside, cold and miserable and sodden; now there’s just Darcy’s skin sliding against hers, Darcy’s mouth hot and knowing and all hers.

They’re pressed together tight under the burning hot shower, skin turning pink where the water hits, legs and feet tangled; Jane’s pleased they’ve got their balance fixed now, because this is one of those accidents you don’t want to have to explain to the emergency services, even if they are at least on the NHS now. Darcy pulls their mouths apart as she drags Jane further against her, one arm curled around Jane’s back while her other hand finally, finally slides between Jane’s legs.

“Shit,” Jane breathes into the curve of skin where Darcy’s neck becomes her shoulder, because that’s where she’s pressing her face now, as Darcy gently presses her fingers between the folds of Jane’s cunt, carefully exploratory. Jane hisses, soft, but there’s water where she isn’t quite slick enough yet, and Darcy’s first skim of a fingertip over her clit has her screwing her eyes shut, scraping her teeth against Darcy’s shoulder.

“I got you,” Darcy murmurs into Jane’s hair, and there’s no teasing, no drawing it out, when she slides a finger inside her.

Jane gasps, canting her hips automatically to help Darcy push deeper, making a ridiculous noise that gets sort of bubbly under the spray of water into her mouth, and Darcy presses her thumb into Jane’s clit, hard enough to make her hips _jump_ , grinding into the touch and pulling away almost simultaneously. 

“More,” Jane manages, and Darcy makes a soft noise that might be a fond laugh, flicking her finger inside Jane, circling her thumb over her clit. She’s getting there, but not quite; Jane shifts a little, enjoying the slick slide of their nipples together as she does so, and Darcy takes the hint, sliding a second finger into Jane and curling them _just so_. Jane groans and manages to get a mouthful of Darcy’s hair in the process, but she doesn’t care, working her hips in tandem to Darcy’s fingers, a rhythm they’ve gotten pretty good at now. 

Jane can hear her breathing, harsh and loud even under the sound of water hitting the tiles, and her toes are curling up against the wet shower floor as Darcy works her thumb harder, sending hot pulses of sparks through Jane’s whole body. She whimpers and shivers and then Darcy presses _down_ and that’s it, just enough, and a swift shallow utterly welcome orgasm shudders through Jane, and she sinks her teeth into Darcy’s shoulder as she comes, letting her hold her up because her knees are suddenly fragile, spitting with relief.

Darcy pets Jane’s hair as she comes down, but the water is getting noticeably cooler, and they’ll probably have to move imminently to avoid suddenly getting stuck in here in the freezing cold.

“Have we got time-” Jane begins muzzily, and Darcy shakes her head.

“No, but I’ve got plans involving a hair dryer and hot chocolate and you eating me out for like, half an hour, so it’s fine.”

Jane considers this, as Darcy snaps off the water and they stand together in the sudden quiet.

“All at the same time?” she asks.

“Hey,” Darcy says, grinning, “I’m your girlfriend who’s great at multitasking, remember?”

And, well, yes, Jane really does.


End file.
